Fallout NV: Origins- Follower
by firebearsftw
Summary: The creation of the Legion was my fault. And so are the deaths. This is my road to atonement. - If Fallout had origin stories like Dragon Age


**This story is my take on what Fallout would be like if it had origin stories like Dragone Age.**

**Disclaimer: not mine. **

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Depression-

Noun

1. Severe despondency and dejection, accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy.

2. A condition of mental disturbance, typically with lack of energy and difficulty in maintaining concentration or interest in life.

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Regret-

Verb

Feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done, esp. a loss or missed opportunity).

Noun

A feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done.

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I'm not an overly happy person. In fact I think the occupation of being any kind of optimistic would be far too...dragging, I suppose would be the best term. But then again it was hard to be any type of optimistic when there is nothing left of the world, but the pointless unending wastelands. Then again all considering, I may yet be more optimistic than those around me.

I had grown up in a small insignificant vault in the ruins of some long forgotten town, on that giant blackened continent called "America". The vault had been reopened for living purposes, and was run by the Followers Of the Apocalypse. Many considered it a blessing. The Followers offered schooling and medical treatment in trade for supplied. From there I learned all that I could. Though not simply for the sake of learning it or preserving knowledge. I just found that the more I learned about history and logic, the more I learned about people. The more science and medicine, the more exposure I got to the world. All I wanted in those days was experience.

As for family My mother had been a tribal, and father a doctor within the Followers. Though they were great people, or so I'm told, they skipped out on me in favor of a more grand life after leaving me with the name Miranda Way. I grew up in the care of the Followers mostly alone, Though I had a twin brother, Gerard, he had left also in pursuit of new chems to use. He had sometime of romantic obsession with them it the end my blood related family is unimportant, but who does matter is a dear friend of mine. One who taught me everything I knew. He showed me the strength of speech and many the ways of persuasion. How to get people to trust you if i sought to. We were close, we had similar situations and found comfort in being around someone with the same views. We were so close, he eve admitted in love with me once. Shortly before he left and formed this giant army currently on the other side of the river. Called themselves the Legion. Needless to say after he left, going on to slaughter innocents,I needed an escape, and found it here in New Vegas.

Working with the addicts in the Old Mormon Fort was not my best idea. I wanted to help, in order to take my mind off things. However, working with habitual addicts is difficult, and tedious. What's the point of helping the addicts when they just go back to the dealers? They don't care how much of our time is wasted on them. Even in the most extreme cases some even try to trade meds for things a trivial as new socks. And did they care? No. Would they listen about the deadly side effects of a rebound after treatment? No. It was so infuriating that it made you want to slap their ignor-,no, their uneduc-, their underprivileged faces.I had done this a few times of course, and was now on probation. Though they put in morenof the "I was just better suited for experimenting to help progress the medicine field". I knew better than to believe that, being stuck in a dark corner of the Fort with a six foot something awkward gay man was not by any circumstances a move up in the world. I was out of sight and far out of their minds, a blessing to them. It gave them a break from the constant reminder that I represented.

Well, at least I learned to never hit a patient if anyone is around.

I stood at the door to the western fort tower, trying to ignore the anxiety of starting a new job. Arcade and I had never gotten along and this new job was just a time bomb being shaken by a Fiend having a het withdrawal thinking that's its contents contained an easy fix. Taking a deep breath I steeped into the storage made laboratory space. There in the corner stood Arcade hunched over staring intently at a cactus.

"Good Morning." I said, sounding cheerful, but only getting a grunt in response. Sighing I already knew how this was going to go down. I had heard his arguments with Julia the day before. Everyone did with his yelling at how I would mess up all his work, we would never agree, never work well together, never get anywhere, I wouldn't show up for work, I would be argumentative, I would be rude, I would have to be taught everything, I was incompetent, I was too close minded, I had a tendency to set things on fire, I was impractical, no imagination, humorless, depressed, needed therapy not a new job. And so the list went on. He then proceeded to yell more, and there were loud crashes. But as far as most people's reactions go to working with me, he took it surprisingly well.

Naturally on the first day of work he ignored me for several hours, no matter what I did to gain his attention. He didn't even look up to my offer of whiskey I had stashed. By the end of the third hour he slammed down a pencil he had been writing with and turned to face me.

"ALRIGHT! Just grab one those books," he said waving his hand in the direction of the stairs, "they are on the third flood, and look for something interesting to do."

"Are you sure that you don't want me to help with..." I peered over his shoulder to his notebook, "cactus Stims?"

" Unless you know how to turn a cactus needle into a working hypodermic needle, then no."

"Well that would be stupid, they are fill with all kinds of germs and radiation. How would you sterilize it?" I said.

Rolling my eyes at the hate filled glare he gave me, I took the message, and left. My problem with Arcade was his idealism. If it wasn't for that we would get along happy as Nightkin in a stealth boy factory, but he had so many pointless ideas. Too many ideas about the future he ignored the reality about the present. Like Caesars Legion, just across the river bend. Just the thought of what he would do to me if I was caught...

I spent the rest of the day looking around the Followers archives. They had spent years collecting Pre-war books around the Mojave. They ranged from science text books, fiction, sci-fi, to diaries. Based on Arcades' attitude I decided it would be best for me to fulfill my position by doing in depth research on Pre-war lifestyles, from this research I would gain insight on places to loot, medicine practices, and more. Or at least I told myself that was my plan, as I settled down to indulged my favorite passion.

The first book I read involved theory. Ideas about branching timelines, fate, alien intervention, creation. Everything I could hope for. By the time the generator clicked on turning on the power I was already nearly finished. Of course the generators also signaled the end of the workday. Shutting the book I walked downstairs, ignoring Arcade still doing whatever it is he was doing earlier. Returning to my tent, I let myself sit down and reflect on my day. A practice I did to stay sane. According to miss know it all Farkas this practice would help me with my...issues.

Though I wasn't stupid, I knew the followers had no idea what to do with me. They never had, especially since what happened. I was too bored with the life of doctor or scholar. I had no interest in preserving the old world. Who should? It's gone, forever, blown apart by the greed of mortal men. There was no hope in regaining it. We were just the final shell of humanity on the verge of cracking apart. No amount good deeds would ever fix this. No amount of conquering, no amount of repentance could save us.

Which brought on the normal questions I fought with everyday, why was here? Why am I alive? Why didn't I go with Gerard? Why am I still stuck in the Followers of the Apocalypse? There were no answers. I didn't expect any, and that was what made me more depressed. Besides what was I doing here? I was worthless to them. I had no patience to be a doctor, no idealist dreams to pursue. Just a heavy heart filled with regret.

I didn't eat that night or the next. I just couldn't feel up to it.


End file.
